Gone Fishing
by ninjakat405
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is in college for English, not a relationship. Until his eyes land upon the captain of the soccer team: Alfred Jones. Now, instead of catching up on schoolwork, Arthur is doing everything he can think of to get catch the blond.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I'm back in college and full of more ideas! I couldn't get to sleep last night and this idea was born. Oh yeah.

I want to actually have a plot and actual depth to a story this time around, instead of just humor and everything happening because I want it to that way. So, this is a bit of a change for me, but not one that I won't enjoy! It just might make uploading chapters a little bit longer and a bit of a rough start.

So, tell me what you think of this! Please, I'd really appreciate any kind of criticism so I know how I'm doing with this. Thank you!

* * *

Arthur Kirkland believed that he had lived a very normal life. Up until a certain point of time, of course. Not a normal life in which he thought the monotonous routine of his daily life was dull. Not a normal life in which he thought he had accomplished nothing before the age that he was able to realize such feelings.

No, he believed that his normal life had been very well lived. Up until this point, you see.

He had been born and raised in the small suburban town a few miles outside of London, England. There, he lived eighteen loud and busy years of changing the diapers of his youngest brother – Peter – and bickering with his three older brothers, Allister, the oldest of them all, Seamus, and Dylan – over who would be watching the telly after school before actually walking the block to the learning center.

He had graduated high school in the twentieth percentile of his class – not as great as Arthur had hoped for, but it could have been much, much worse – before moving across the pond to the United States to continue his education.

Yes, everything had been quiet peachy, so fantastic in fact that Arthur was expecting some comical mass of something evil to jump out from a corner to break the spell of his perfectly normal life. But nothing did.

That is, up until a specific time in his life.

Arthur had everything he could have ever asked for. He had a handful of good friends, as much as he wanted and most of them immature (he continued to wonder to this day why he hung around people such as the perverted frog), supportive parents who continued to send care packages despite calling them to let him know that he was no longer a teenager without a job, and high grades in his courses.

And then he had noticed _something. _

Having high marks apparently made classes very dull and unneeded, and Arthur found himself in the library more often than not. With nothing to do since studying wasn't needed most of the time, Arthur browsed the shelves of fiction and non-fiction of novels alike until that, too, became dull. So he people watched.

And then he found that something.

All of the engineering and accounting students would come into the library right after lunch and leave just before dinner. The same pattern revealed itself day after day without fail, which caused him to know that as soon as the kids left, the couples began to pour in. Girls, dragged by their boyfriends, would shuffle awkwardly towards the back of the library or to the separate room or the bathrooms and do whatever it was that couples did alone.

A few weeks after learning this pattern, Arthur began to think very strangely. He wondered when he would get a girlfriend, and promptly smacked himself for such a stupid idea. He was in college to get his degree in English, not for picking up women.

But still the thoughts continued. Sneakily, they crept into his mind in the vulnerable state just as he was about to fall asleep, or in the increasingly dull searches for new books. Whispers of relationships and loneliness ghosted about his brain, patiently waiting for the next opportunity to assault.

And then the chance came.

Arthur was walking back to his dorm after lunch and found himself taking the long way back. The path wound its way around the soccer field and reached to the back door of the building. Instead of turning back to the shorter road, something pushed him in the direction of the small dirt road.

A sudden soccer scrimmage had broken out on the field. Shouts and curses and laughter floated through the chilly spring air as the college's team broke into two and began to kick the ball around.

The whispers struck; the mist enveloping. And Arthur's breath caught at a shock of blond hair.

The captain of the boy's soccer team had just scored a goal and was dancing about the field as the other half grumbled and set up their next attack. Childishly, the captain stuck his tongue out at the other team and riled them up with shouted taunts. And Arthur hated people who were childish. He hated those who thought them better.

But he could not take his eyes off of the man.

Heart racing and eyes wide, Arthur forced his feet to move, just one step and then another, all the way back to his dorm room. What was wrong with him? He had never shown any affection towards anyone, let alone any homosexual tendencies.

The voices in his head were just messing with him, he was sure. They were just desperate and the soccer player was a well-built man, he could admit that he would make any woman happy. But there was no way that he could fall for a man.

Yes, that was it. It was just his confusion for a companion was all. Maybe his friend Francis could help him clear things up. He did seem to know a lot about relationships, though Arthur knew the disgusting and rude reasons for that knowledge.

It was better not to dwell on the subject, Arthur decided, and sat down at his desk. He began to pull out the books needed for his homework assignment, and, despite all efforts at concentration, he was not able to get the soccer captain, the blonde, the man known as Alfred Jones, out of his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **It took my forever to figure out how I wanted to get the beginning started, but it's here now! Thank you so much for all of your reviews and excitement about this story! It makes this so much more fun to write!

Hopefully I'll be able to finish the next chapter and post it by Tuesday, so look out for that! Unfortunately, after chapter three, the story cuts off in my head, so the updates might not be as often. But I have an awesome class schedule and large spots off free time for planning and writing. So you won't have to wait that long!

Enjoy!

* * *

Arthur had almost survived the day. Almost. Everything was returning to normal – or as close to normal and the Incident (the whole experience was terrifying enough to cause it to be labeled and with a capital no less) – and there had been no sightings of _him _after the Incident.

He had decided to go to classes, just to get his life into some resemblance of order, and the rough waters of his mind were slowly calming.

And then a very familiar, very accented, and very _unwanted _voice drifted down the hallway.

"Bonjour, Arthur!" Francis called, dragging the words out into a sing-song tone so sweet it was sickening. The Frenchman all but skipped down the hall, a smile that rubbed Arthur the wrong way spreading across his face. And, as if Francis' nearly blinding enthusiasm wasn't enough, the man had the nerve to begin spitting out everything just dandy about his day.

Just peachy. Exactly what he needed. Oh yes, this was very cheering.

"What is wrong, mon ami?" the blond asked. "That frown will not make those eyebrows of yours any smaller."

Arthur shot a glare at his (so-called) friend. Just the mere presence of the other man was making his resolve and determination shaky. The whispers were back, soft and not yet solid, but persistent. Of course he had to think of asking Francis about his love troubles. Now that he was actually here, the words sat in his stomach like concrete.

"There is something big on your mind, oui?" His animalistic smile made Arthur shudder. "Tell me all about it."

A snarky retort was just sitting on his tongue, ready to be used. Until Arthur noticed that Francis' eyes were blue. Alfred's eyes were blue. But Francis' eyes did not glow with the same pulsing energy as the soccer captain and where the lad's face still held some of its child-like roundness, the Frenchman had sharp, angular features. And Francis was nothing like the beauty of Alfred no matter how many times he called himself a god of love. He was perverse and stubborn, and Alfred was energetic and childish. And all that fuzzy stubble that the frog called a beard-

"Arthur, what is wrong with you?"

"Pardon?"

"You have been staring at me like I am about to grow a second head."

"Hopefully it won't be as ugly as this one," Arthur snorted. Dear Lord, he needed to get himself to a nut house and soon.

Really, now was not the time to think about his love life (well, lack thereof). In fact, there was never a time at all to think of a love life with a man in the first place. There were plenty of attractive women in this school. He should be finding interests with them. He just needed to remind those voices in his head about that. They should be satisfied with a nice homely girl, yes.

"Do you like someone?" Francis suddenly asked.

Arthur's head snapped up, eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. God save the Queen – he hadn't just ranted that all out loud, did he? His pride was ruined, his self-preservation all but rubbed in the dirt. He was going to go home right this instant and bury himself. He was already digging his way six feet under from the beginning anyway.

The chuckle that escaped the blond's lips made Arthur want to strangle him. "You are adorable, mon ami. Who is? I hear that Lilly's older brother is gone for the month. Is that who? Or is it Michelle?"

Arthur was mortified by the rush of heat spreading up his neck and clawing up his face like some, pride-eating beast. He pursed his lips as Francis' eyes – not as blue as Alfred's (_stop thinking about that git, you arse!) _– narrowed.

His lips curled up into a feral smile. "Oi…it is not une fille, oui?"

Arthur's mind clawed at any of his stability as the image of Alfred winning his goal filled his vision. "E-English, bloody git." Bullocks, that didn't even sound convincing to himself.

"You are thinking about a boy."

Could one burn down a building through the heat of a blush? Arthur was tempted to try just to get out of the area and hopefully burn Francis down as well. Maybe Alfred. As long as all of this stopped.

"Who is it?" Francis asked, breathless and eyes gleaming.

"No one!" Yelling, yes, yelling might work.

"Oh, it can't be me, can it?"

"Shod off, frog! Like anyone would put up with you! Lord knows how I live with you," Arthur grumbled, feeling a bit more like himself.

"Because you love me," he sang, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck.

Arthur promptly choked and flailed. "Alfred!" It came out like a cry of help. Which it kind of was, seeing as how he was drowning in the sea of Francis' expensive cardigan and choking on his cologne. "His name is Alfred!"

"Alfred?" Francis dropped the Brit and tapped his chin. "The soccer captain? That Alfred?" The pout on Arthur's face was all the confirmation needed. "Oh, Arthur, we have some work to do, Monsieur Amour".


	3. Chapter 3

"Just one foot in front of the other, lad," Arthur whispered to himself. "Good, good, that's very well. Now again." Emerald eyes stayed locked on his feet – his shoes were much better, much less…Alfred-shaped. A sharp intake of breath and a knot in his stomach later, Arthur found himself stuck. His leg refused to move any further down the hall.

Jolly.

His mouth was as loose as ever and a string of curses easily flew from his lips as something hit in the back of his head. Francis stuck his head out from a classroom, another crumpled paper wad in his hand poised to throw. With a flick of his – unoccupied wrist – he motioned for the Brit to keep going.

With another set of choice words, Arthur braced himself, filled his lungs with air for the big push and-

Somewhere, unbeknownst to him, a clock struck one and professors begrudgingly ended lectures. Students all but tumbled from doors, crowded the hall, filled up his air space, crowding, pushing, shoving. Making it darker, hotter, harder to see and breathe and stand.

A passing student shoved into him on his rush to get out of the building and Arthur stumbled into a row of lockers. He slipped around the corner and pressed himself against the cold metal. He tried to even out his gasping breaths.

"Yo! Practice at six tonight! Remember this time guys!"

That booming voice froze him faster than a dip in artic waters. Arthur's head whipped to the side as he desperately searched for Francis. The blond was already gone, most likely already escaping to the parking lot. That damn git!

Footsteps were sounding closer. _His _footsteps. There was a flash of golden wheat hair and Arthur wished he would just melt into the lockers behind him. He turned around quickly, hopefully unnoticed by the tall, muscular, handsome – _stop it, stop it, stop it_!

Just take a deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. There. Jolly good. Everything was fine. Arthur wasn't seen. What had he done to look obvious? Really, a peek around the corner did not on a way make it look like he was interested. Maybe he was looking for a teacher or to make sure no one was in the way before he turned down the hall. Yes, there.

"Hey, you. What are you doing down there?" Alfred called.

Arthur snapped to attention, spine straight, calves quivering as his legs tried to carry him as far away as fast as possible. He could feel the panic rising, bubbling up from the pit of his stomach to his mouth were it would undoubtedly spew forth from his lips some horrible and embarrassing nonsense.

"Seriously? What is down there that you gotta take so long?"

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and very, very slowly, turned around to face the tall blond. "W-well, you see-"

"Sorry, Alfred," another blond man said – whispered? Did he even catch that right? He brushed past Arthur and stopped by the soccer captain. "I was stuck in the crowd again…"

"We're gonna have to start fixing that, bro, alright, Mattie?" He slapped his brother's back with a chuckle. "C'mon, the boys will never let me live it down if I'm late for practice!" With a grin, he jumped ahead and raced down the hall.

Arthur didn't stay to watch him speed away, instead favoring sprinting out of the school and heading home as quick as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **It's another short one, but that doesn't mean it isn't as important! The next chapter will be longer and will the plot moving a bit faster.

* * *

What was he doing here? What in the world did he think he was going to accomplish by being there? Arthur wasn't a fan – not even remotely an enjoyer – of being shoved between two – literal – soccer moms in cold plastic bleachers that screamed and dipped at the lightest footfall. At least it wasn't raining.

Looking on the bright side; always a better alternative than facing the awful reality.

The awful reality that was this brief moment of Arthur Kirkland's life was taking place at the college's soccer field. While it was not raining – indeed, the sky was empty of all blemishes and the bright colors of a sunset with just the hint of a light breeze – the object of his torment, the presence that made his stomach knot, his head hurt, and his knees so weak, was striding about the fake turf a few rows below.

Seriously? What _was_ he doing here? Arthur was trying to avoid Alfred, not catch a secretive glance at the tall blond at every possible moment. Which was why he was stuck between two middle-aged women, with hair fried from irons, eyes dull from working, and faces heavy with both responsibilities and layers of make-up. Because who would look at their mums while practicing? It was the perfect hiding spot to stare at Alfred as he punted the ball, blue eyes narrowed in concentration, tongue just slightly peeking from between open lips, one leg swinging in a single, powerful stro-

Arthur tore his eyes from the field and rubbed at them furiously. No, there was nothing spectacular about Alfred Jones. No, he did not feel the burn of tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. And most certainly he did not feel the overwhelming desire to grab the lad, yank him back to the locker room and having him right then and there.

Oh bloody hell the old women were watching him. What did they see? A love sick student pining for their significant other? A hopeless onlooker? A pathetic crybaby? Or his quickly tenting jeans?

It was decided that he's make a run for it.

"Oi, Arthur! I have found you!"

Arthur wanted to die. He wanted to jump from the highest row of bleachers and land on his head. Maybe one of the soccer players would use his skull as a ball. The thought was so appealing than the embarrassment of Francis finding him like this that he found himself rising from his seat. But before he could take a step up, a hand was on his shoulders. The shock and horror was enough to freeze the blood going south.

"What are you doing here, frog?" Arthur hissed. "I thought you would have stayed home after leaving me behind during class."

"You looked fine on your own," Francis smirked. "Alfred was coming your way, and what better way to interact than impromptu, non?" The wink sent Arthur's way made him shudder. He was going need a shower when he got home. Maybe two, if Francis kept touching him. "And speaking of our dear Alfred…"

"I am not here for that git!" He crossed his arms as the Frenchman smiling knowingly down at him. "I left something here, and I came to fetch it…but it seems that someone has reached it before me."

The hand on Arthur's shoulder tightened his grip. "Then if you are no longer busy, I have something for you."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I always seem to update really late. I'm sorry for the wait guys, but here's the next chapter!

* * *

Arthur had been edge the moment he recognized the route Francis was taking him was in the direction of the small apartment the Frenchman owned. No, scratch that, Arthur had been edge the moment his cheese and wine smelling breath had ghosted along the back of his neck as the blond whispered his name. This was just the frosting on the cake. The sour, curdling frosting on the hard, stale cake.

Arthur kept his hands in his lap. This way he could keep them from smacking into Francis's face. How dared he to just leave him in the hallway like that! It had been all this frog's fault. Oh, did that stubbly face deserve a good beating right not, Arthur decided. It was a shame that the offending man was driving, though. A car crash would be like the rotten fruit in the stale cake. With the sour frosting to wrap it all up.

"You haven't said a word all this time," Francis sighed.

"You haven't backed me up all this time," Arthur grumbled in response.

"So you are finally admitting your love?"

"I'm admitting that you're as horrible a person as I've always believed!" Arthur snapped. The feeling of his fist connecting with that face was getting more and more tempting.

"You wound me, mon ami." Francis took a sharp turn at an intersection and took his eyes off the road to give the Brit a sweet smile. "I am not as bad as you say. I just have my own ways of going about things."

Unable to find a suitable counter to that, Arthur muttered a quick, "Well you're ways are stupid," and felt his cheeks go red at the older man's chuckles.

"You will see that I'm helping you more than you know. We're here. Just come inside and you'll see for yourself. In the bedroom."

Arthur slammed the car door shut – that would show him, ha! – and only half worried about whether this help Francis was providing was a lesson in sexual education instead of social interactions. Even after knowing Francis for so long, he was surprised at how real he thought the first option could become. All the same, he grudgingly followed the other up the stairs to his small apartment and through the twist and turns of the different rooms to get to the bedroom.

Instead of finding rose petals and mood-lighting, Arthur found bag after bag of clothing stacked into one pile overflowing the surface of the bed. All kinds of shoes covered the carpet and ties were draping haphazardly over every piece of furniture.

"Did your closet finally reject the garbage you call fashion?" Arthur snorted?

Francis produced a small sound akin to hurt and pouted. "I happen to like my style and I thought you did do, Arthur." The blond avoided the random sets of footwear and skirted around the bed to stand at one corner of the room. "I was happening to sort through clothes I no longer wear and cleaned out whatever I did not or could not use. Oh, don't worry, there is still many and more of my fashionable ensemble," he added after an incredible look from Arthur.

"This is just extra clothing you happened to have laying around?" Arthur asked incredulously. There had to have been three times as much clothing as Arthur owned! How could one man have so much? Or afford it all? Or even _keep _it?

"The reasons are all unimportant," Francis continued as he saw Arthur's mouth open, ready to fire question after question. They were here for a reason and Francis would rather get on with it than chat. There were many clothes to go through, and only one that would fit Arthur perfect. "You see, I thought you would like some of my extras."

"What's wrong with my choice of clothing?" Arthur defended? He quite liked his slacks and sweater-vests. They were comfortable, warm, and their rugged colors distracted from his…to put it bluntly, large eyebrows and ragged hair.

Francis tsked and shook his head. "Those clothes are not fit for a date."

He nearly choked. On second thought, Arthur was pretty sure he did. Suddenly he couldn't breathe and his entire focus was on how to get air into his lungs. "W-what did you just say?"

The other sighed. "Alfred has been given the invitation to a double date from me. I have set him up with someone he might like and everyone will be meeting next week for dinner."

"Wh-who's going?"

Arthur really did not like the glint in Francis's eyes. "Matthew and I are one couple and Alfred and, well, _you_, will be the other. But Alfred doesn't know that. Now, come on, strip. We have many clothes to go through an only so much time to do it in."

While the Frenchman began to dig around in one of the many bags for a dress shirt, Arthur was groping for something solid to lean against. Was his vision going? His heart was definitely pounding much harder than the organ had a right to and his stomach was rebelling. Had Francis just said…he was going on a date with Alfred?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **It's been forever, hasn't it? I don't mean to do this, but...I do. Don't know why.I feel like I've gone over this before, ho-hum.) Anyway, the long wait has been made for! The next installment is _longer _and stuff actually _happens_ - oh my God :o

This chapter is **Alfred's POV** and will continue on in Arthur's afterwards. Enjoy!

**I still don't own Hetalia. **

* * *

"And you're sure this is necessary?" Alfred asked, pulling down the collar of his jacket. "I mean, it's just a double date. We're not going to some five star super classy, upscale whatever kind of place, are we?" The flat look Francis gave him made him press his lips together in distain. "Really? Why, dude? You know how much I hate places like that. And I hate wearing…" he gestured to the light blue dress shirt hiding under the black jacket and dress pants, "-this."

"It is simply because I can afford these kinds of places and Mathieu deserves to be spoiled every once in a while," Francis answered. "Seeing you clean up might have also been in consideration when deciding to go,"

"My bro's name is Matthew."

"That is what I said." Alfred huffed but kept the rest of his complaints himself. Francis has said that he could afford a five star restaurant, which mean he was paying for both dates. He wasn't going to risk losing a giant awesome meal over the nicknames he gave his brother, creepy as they sounded.

"You know, you never did tell me who else was coming," Alfred continued. He blinked, realizing that he was nervously tapping his forefinger against his knee as they walked down the road to the restaurant. He cleared his throat.

"I believe that is the point, mon cher. That is why they call it a _blind date_, oui? They will be here shortly."

"You keep calling this – uh – 'blind date' a them."

Francis glanced up from where he had been fussing with this watch. A ghost of a smile crossed his face and something flashed briefly in his blue eyes. "Just keeping it a surprise." Alfred swallowed.

The place (though Alfred had expected something way over the top considering it was something Francis has picked out) was absolutely gorgeous. And intimidating to the soccer captain. The front entrance was made entirely of glass, to show off the organized sets of tables and serious wait staff and men and women dressed in white and black shirts and aprons weaved through them. A small chandelier hung from the waiting area with crystal lamps hanging above every booth. The wood was stained to look smooth and dark, the floors carpeted a deep red, and soft golden trails of color lined the edges of the rooms. Francis looked right a home stepping inside the doors. Alfred felt like he was choking as he made sure everything was perfect.

"Relax," Francis said, smiling down at him. The two were guided to a table towards the back of the restaurant (which Alfred was glad for, since it was also closest to the bathrooms). Matthew was already sitting; an overly-done menu covering his face was in his hands. He put it down the moment they settled into the booth and immediately Francis struck up a conversation with him. Alfred glanced down, disappointed that he wasn't able to get a word in.

"Hey Mattie-"

"Non, non, those are not the best," Francis whispered in his boyfriend's ear as he pointed to something on the menu. "Now, these are what you are looking for."

Alfred cleared his throat. "Bro, do you know-"

"Do you think they'd be okay though? They're really expensive…" Matthew's light lavender eyes lifted to meet Francis smiling face. The Frenchman ran a hand through his boyfriend's hair, wordlessly telling him how silly such a notion was.

Alfred pouted and crossed his arms. Well then. Maybe he'd just have to order the most expensive ever then. That would really get his attention – and maybe never ever a free fancy meal again – but, hey, revenge!

Suddenly, Francis cut off his new topic with Matthew about his test scores to glance in the direction of the entrance. A large grin split his mouth. "Our guest has arrived." Matthew followed his line of sight, eyes narrowed at first before widening. He leaned closer to Francis, hastily whispering. Francis's smile only widened and he nodded.

Alfred did not like the uneasy look on Matthew's face. He turned around to take a look for himself but saw no one heading in their general direction. There was a tall, brunette man with freckles that was glancing around lost, but soon his girlfriend came up and took her hand to bring her to a different table. He glanced hopefully at a blonde in a dark blue, knee-length dress, but behind her came a bouncing girl and the father. His eyes skimmed the other side of the room-

"Hey, is that that British kid?" Alfred nodded in the direction of the short blond. "Man, I've never seen him so dressed up before and I thought sweater vests _were_ the most dressed-up he could get. His name's Arthur, right?" Francis nodded. Matthew's uneasy frown deepened. "What's wrong guys? He's just a dude wanting to get a meal. Though, this place doesn't seem like the kind of food service for him. I wonder who he's with. Oh! Hey, he's getting seated near here, maybe we can ask him!"

Alfred's eyes widened and his smile faded the closer Arthur got to their table. His face went blank save for a forced, polite smile when the other sat down besides Alfred. Arthur kept his head down as he shifted uncomfortably and fiddled with the sleeve of his own dress shirt.

"Francis, is this some kind of joke?" Alfred hissed across the table. He saw Arthur flinch. Arthur, of all people _Arthur _was the blind date? The Frenchy had to have been messing with him. This wasn't fun. This was torture.

"No, mon cher."

Alfred turned away and closed his eyes. He couldn't watch those hands, those small hands with their thin lithe fingers, pull at the mint green shirt. Did he even know just how well that color brought out his eyes? Those wide, dark green eyes that Alfred could have stared into forever. He grit his teeth. There was no way that Francis was telling the truth. No one as gorgeous as Arthur would ever even think about loving another man. Especially not goofy, dumb, Alfred.

"Excuse me. I-I gotta use the bathroom." Yup, so eloquent. Just what Arthur wanted. In a g_irl._ He needed to get out of there. Temperature rising and face flushing, Alfred escaped from the table and locked himself in a bathroom stall. Maybe he could stay in long enough for everyone to believe he had left and go home. Then everyone would forget and Arthur would be, once again, a painful wish.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **An update!? And so soon? I know, I know. I had this chapter already planned out (unlike the other ones) and that's why it came out sooner. I kind of have the next chapter planned out, but finals are in two weeks and I'll be moving back home after that, so it won't come as quick as I'd like it to. Or, you, nprobably. Anyway: enjoy~

* * *

Arthur felt like he had to keep a hand over his chest in order to stay his rapidly pounding heart. With each step towards the table it picked up the pace. The organ was ready to jump out of his chest and escape. A fleeting hope that it could crossed the Brit's mind as he neared the small group. Perhaps then he wouldn't feel such horrible, twisting thoughts, of hope torn with fear and dread smoothed by happiness.

He sat down not a moment too soon. His knees buckled and he gripped the table top with enough force to cramp his hand as he slowly guided himself to the empty end of the booth. He swallowed in an attempt to control his panting breaths.

Alfred was right there, seated on his right-hand side. Arthur could feel his heat, such a warm and hopeful heat, and just the smell of his natural odor, let alone the cologne he had to be wearing, was driving him mad. And just looking at him – by God the man was gorgeous. His bright blue eyes flickered beneath a wave of golden bangs. And the suit! His heart was soaring now. All the torture and paranoia Francis has put him through over the past week was worth it.

"Francis, is this some kind of joke?" Alfred hissed.

Ice cold water ran through Arthur's blood. The pain of reality hit him so hard he could feel the cold hard metal stake in his heart. He swallowed, but the tightening of his throat made him choke. He couldn't tell if the forming tears were from the struggle to breath or the horror on Alfred's face.

"No, mon cher," Francis said.

"I-I gotta use the bathroom." Arthur's eyes never left the blond's retreating figure as he jumped from the booth and disappeared into the bathroom. His mouth remained open, a small whimper escaping his parted lips.

"He was much more enthusiastic before," Francis said, tapping a finger to his chin.

Matthew grabbed the small drinks menu and slapped is across his boyfriend's shoulder. His scowl didn't waver at the Frenchman's upset face. "Did you tell him it was Arthur?" Francis gave a guilty shrug and Matthew responded with another whack. "Why!?"

"It was a blind date. And Alfred has never been adverse to dating men before…" his voice trailed off as his eyes shifted to watch the bathroom doors. "I did not think he would mind…" Matthew's eyes narrowed and he pulled Francis close before whispering fervently in his ear.

Arthur watched on will a blank look. Francis and Matthew's conversation was just a dull buzz in his ears compared to the torment in his head. Alfred had run off. Alfred wasn't adverse to dating men. But as soon as he had seen Arthur he had shot like a gun out of the place at the first chance. His heart felt heavy, his stomach upset. The fancy chandeliers now gave off a cold glow that made his head pound instead of a romantic shadow that hinted at more activities later on than just eating. The heated air filled with mindless chit-chat sucked the warmth from his skin and made him shiver.

Arthur shouldn't have come here. He shouldn't have asked Francis for help. Hell, he shouldn't have even longed for Alfred in the first place! He knew this would happen. Yet he had gone after it like a fly towards honey. Now he was stuck in the jar with the lid quickly closing. His chances out making it out of this situation was already low. Making it out of this situation with his heart intact was even less.

"I need to get out of here." Matthew glanced up from his hushed conversation. "I-I can't stay here. I'm sorry." His movements felt heavy and forced; mechanical. Had he really put his napkin down? He was already standing up? Arthur wobbled on the way to the exit, his vision going blurry as tears spilled over. He brushed them away.

Francis shot out of his seat. "Arthur! Non! You cannot go!" He glanced back at the bathroom, his eyes wide as he waited expectantly for Alfred to come out. Matthew shoved him towards the retreating Arthur.

"You messed this up. You fix it. You caused this giant misunderstanding, so play telephone." Francis nodded and weaved through the crowded restaurant after Arthur.

Arthur was already outside, but the cold air did nothing to help his quickening breath or the sweat beading his brow. He felt dizzy with misery and heartache and his heartbeat couldn't keep up with the pain. A hand fell on his shoulder and he swatted it away.

"Go away! Leave me alone!"

"Mon cher-"

"Don't _touch _me," the Brit snarled. Or, so he hope he snarled. The pathetic sniffle that followed his words did nothing to enhance his anger. "The next time you lay a finger on me, you'll be missing a digit!" Arthur cleared his throat, trying to regain some control of himself. Crying wouldn't serve any purpose. It wouldn't make Francis go away. It wouldn't make the night any better. It most certainly wouldn't bring Alfred back. "I'm going home, Francis. I don't want your help anymore. Thank…thank you for trying. But I've had enough."

"But Arthur-"

"No, Francis. At least, not tonight." Squaring his shoulders, Arthur walked down the street to find his car.

"He loves you," the Frenchman finished to the empty night air.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Wooowwww, looking at me updating in a timely fashion. After this, though, there won't be another chapter for a few weeks. I have finals all next week and then I'll be in Canada for two weeks after that. It just means more time for me to plan for your enjoyment. I'm thinking about wrapping this up in two or three chapters, though. We're very close to Arthur and Alfred coming together.

* * *

Francis ran a hand through his hair, his slim fingers catching in the tangled locks from previous musings. His other hand played with a sliver that had come off the kitchen table. Hey moved it from finger to finger, listening to his boyfriend in the background talk with whispered fever to his brother on the phone. Francis' phone stayed eerily quiet and the blond wondered what would happen to Arthur know. He has spent so much energy and time on this moment, all for it to end in a giant misunderstanding.

"Alfred, I can't make you listen, or even believe me, but I really think it'd be a good idea to talk to the guy. Explain or something." Whatever Alfred responded with was loud aloud for a small buzz to be heard, even with the cellphone pressed close to Matthew's ear. "Okay, okay, fine. Do whatever you want then." Matthew snapped his phone shut and Francis heard his footsteps grow louder as he neared.

A hand rested on his shoulder before sliding down his chest. "This all your fault."

"I know," Francis muttered. "I didn't think this would happen. I thought even Alfred would have gotten the hint if they just started talking."

"He's not going to get anything unless you tell him upright."

Francis placed a kiss on his boyfriends arm. "And Arthur is too stubborn and embarrassed to ever say anything like that out loud, oui?"

"Oui. Tant de peine. You have to fix this, you know."

Francis sighed and pulled his cellphone from his pocket. There was a severe lack of voicemails and text messages from Arthur. It made his stomach knot. Maybe he wasn't the best of friend, but he always tried. He hadn't meant for Alfred and Arthur's date to end like that. He guessed he really should try and patch everything up. He flipped open his phone and started dialing.

"Bleeding hell," Arthur groaned, lifting his head from his pillow as a shrill ringing filled the small house. "What kind of tosser would call at a time like this?" The clocks in his house told him that it was just reaching one a.m. in their cheery, glow-in-the dark faces. The telephone told him that Francis was calling.

Just what he needed. Arthur was tempted to hang up on him and unplug the phone. The twwat wouldn't stop calling until he answered, he knew. And just to talk about how he was 'oh so sorry' about how the date had went. He was probably snickering to himself, hiding behind the distance only telephone lines could cross.

He didn't need that thrown in his face. His mind was focused on forgetting the whole damnable experience. As soon as he had come home, Arthur had thrown wide his fridge, pulled as much alcohol as he could find from its depths, and collapsed on his couch with awful sitcom re-runs playing. He just needed to get into bed and forget that Francis had called.

Yet, he found himself answering the call without hanging up. Instead, he placed the phone by his ear and forced out a quiet, tired hello.

"Go away."

"Don't hang up!"

"I have every right to, frog," Arthur responded. He find the energy to slash back at the Frenchman, no matter the amount of anger pooling in his gut. It just wasn't worth it.

"You could say that, but all of this isn't really my fault."

Arthur could feel a little spark of his liquor-drowned frustration flare to life. "Why, because it just so happens that this is really _my _fault and Alfred actually has mutual feelings for me? Is that it, Francis? You better be bloody well drunk to be suggesting something like that!"

"Well…uh, you see- yes."

Arthur hesitated. "Yes?"

"Oui. Everything you have just said is true. Except for the dunken part. I am not nearly as intoxicated as you sound."

"I'm not drunk," the Brit hissed. "And what do you mean I'm right?"

"This is really more of both your's and Alfred's fault. Alfred feels the same way about you, but does not know about your feelings. He's too thick-headed to see it. Thus, he believes that he does not deserve to be around you. So, he ran away. And you're too stubborn to tell him."

Arthur blinked, his min going blank. He had to have been drunker than he thought for Francis' words to be distorted like that. Alfred didn't like him. Alfred didn't like men. He was hearing wrong. Or Francis was playing a cruel, cruel game.

"Arthur?"

"Call me when I'm sober." Arthur hung up and put the phone away. He didn't think his shaking legs would be able to make it to his bedroom, so he opted to rest at the kitchen table. Alfred liked him (or so he thought). Alfred had the same feelings and insecurities (or so his boozed up mind had interrupted the words as) as himself.

Shakily, he took up the phone again and stared at it. He would have to call Alfred. Or maybe Matthew. But in the morning. Maybe then his stomach would calm and his heart would feel less than full to bursting.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur watched Alfred's long, thin fingers drum sporadically on the smooth wooden surface of the table set against the wall of the coffee shop. His eyes noticed movement that wasn't the tap of skin on wood and watched bright blue eyes flicker away from his face to every corner of the small establishment. Arthur wanted to tease the lad about it, until a blush reminded him that he hadn't once glanced upon the other's face.

The Brit let out a breath, feeling his chest fall as he gathered the confidence to break the silence. "Francis told me that…well, you're reaction to the other day was misinterpreted by my person."

"When you use giant words like that, it sounds like it's all my fault," Alfred replied.

"It kind of is your fault."

"You ran away every time I tried to talk to you!"

Arthur crossed his arms. "I was embarrassed…"

"Which made me think you hated me which made you think that I hated you and then this whole thing with Francis setting up the date became really super awkward and we both freaked out-." A half grin lifted his face at the frown Arthur shot his way. "All-in-all, we both messed up things royally," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck."

"You mean _you _did."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, Artie." A jolt ran down Arthur's spine at the nickname and he covered his unease (could that little thrill be called unease?) with a cough. "Mattie had to tell me. Man, how embarrassing is that? Getting told by your younger brother that your crush is actually in love with you but you're too dense to notice."

"Francis called me a while after about it."

"Did he chew you out?"

"Did he what? I…I guess not." Arthur frowned and leaned back in his seat. He wished that he had bought something, even that disgusting drink called coffee, if only to have something to occupy himself other than the whirlpool of emotions inside him. "After he told me, I didn't know what to do with myself. I knew how bloody dense I had been, but he didn't have to rub it in." In all truth, Arthur had taken to chugging the contents of his left of alcohol. He had blacked out after that, but if the multitudes of empty liquor bottles were to be trusted, he had gotten plastered. And called Francis and said some nasty words from the looks he had received when he finally crawled out of his apartment with a pounding headache.

"Well, we're getting it settled out now, right?"

Arthur lifted his eyes to Alfred's face. His breath caught as bright, hopeful blue orbs captured his and refused to let him go. As if Arthur would ever dream of taking his sight off them. A whole other world was swimming in that deep blue. Arthur wanted to delve into them, find their secrets and leave a secret of his own.

"Arthur? Next week? Around nine?"

"Excuse me, what?"

Alfred's arm began to move in the direction of Arthur, to possible swipe at the Brit's hair to get his attention, or maybe even to rotate the wrist in exasperation. The actual course of the action was halted before the projection could be determined and Alfred hesitated before bringing his hand back down to his lap. "Do you wanna go somewhere next week? Like, to the beach or a movie? Something to make up for the mess that was dinner."

"Um, yes, sure." He cleared his throat and turned his eyes from Alfred's and down to the younger's chin. "I'd like that."


End file.
